


Remedies for the Common Cold

by LightDescending



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Night Vale, Prompt Fill, Typical Night Vale Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightDescending/pseuds/LightDescending
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"WTNV, one of the angels is sick and Old Woman Josie is trying to take care of it, do it".<br/>Turns out an angel, sick, sounds something like a badly tuned orchestra or at least a jangly percussion section.<br/>Luckily, Josie knows just the cure for acute coryza: involve the community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remedies for the Common Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [closetextrovert @tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=closetextrovert+%40tumblr.com).



> Takes place sometime before the events of Eternal Scouts; I’m not sure exactly when. Thanks to all my followers on tumblr who shared their preferred methods of recovering from a cold, especially jeilosophy for your hilarious suggestion of “death”! <3 I got a bit carried away with this fill, which was supposed to be a drabble of 1000 words or less... Oh well. Thank you in advance for reading. (The vaguest of research was done, on top of personal and follower experience)

The angel has taken on the appearance of a wilted lily: droopy, wings brown and crinkled slightly at the tips, altogether overly delicate as though they may fall into components at any moment like petals being shed. All of their eyes are bleary, some half-lidded and others closed; pearly liquid beads up and seeps from the corners, catches in their lashes, sparkling brilliantly like liquid mercury or a lake under sunlight. Old Woman Josie tucks another puff of a feather-down pillow behind its head and re-adjusts the blankets. She’s taken out every spare sheet in the house and made what virtually amounts to a nest on the living room floor, and still Erika’s tall form can’t be completely covered, limbs and body peeking through gaps in the cloth. Erika’s feet protrude from the bottom, conscientiously swathed with knitted tea-cosies and wrapped around with scarves. A light bulb bursts with a hum and pop when the angel sneezes, illumination surging briefly through the room. They sniffle with a miserable little trill of sound, and Josie clucks her tongue sympathetically.

_I’m sorry!_

“There you go, dearie, no fuss, no fuss, bulbs are replaceable as we all know – look, Erika’s already got a new one – here, blow your nose.”

She holds a square of fine silk to Erika’s face and the angel obligingly trumpets – literally – into the handkerchief. Josie straightens and hands off the kerchief into another Erika’s hand, the angel hovering tan-skinned and luminous and stooped with concern over Josie’s shoulder.

_I feel terrible._

“I know.” She shuffles towards the hall closet, takes out a shawl and wraps it around her shoulders after brushing off stray dust bunnies. These land in soft tufts on the floor and proceed to devour themselves. “I’m going to go out for a bit,” she calls over her shoulder in a voice surprising for her tiny frame. “Not to worry, I’ll be fine, Erika’s coming with me, I’m just off to pick up some cold remedies! Be back in a jiff.”

Erika – the white one - kindly bends to open the door, and Josie totters out onto the porch, tucking a ream of black velvety paper into her handbag as she goes.

-

Cecil smiles broadly at her when she enters, ushering her forward even as he continues his broadcast.

“Listeners, we’ve got an unexpected guest this afternoon – Old Woman Josie has just entered the recording studio. She’s positively _glowing_ with health and,” he leans in conspiratorially, cupping his hand around the microphone and winking at Josie. “A deep violet, almost black aura, almost certainly indicative of angelic protection.”

Erika covers their mouth with one slender hand, the other still resting on Josie’s shoulder, and titters softly like a tinkling of sweet bells.

 _He’s the only one who bothers mentioning us overtly_ , they whisper, and Josie shushes them.

Cecil continues, “We’ll take this opportunity to see what Josie might require, and go to: a word from our sponsors.” In the booth the intern, Maria, toggles some soundboard switches and shoots Cecil a thumbs up. He flips the headphones off his head and opens his arms to receive Josie’s hug.

“This is rare,” he says. “I’m surprised you didn’t call!”

“It has to be a visit in person this time ‘round; though I find this much nicer anyways.”

“The greater pleasure is mine. What auspicious or dreadful event precipitates your visit?”

“Erika’s feeling under the weather.”

“Ohhhh – I see. I’m terribly sorry about the damages to your home.”

Josie waves one hand. “Not to worry, not to worry, a smidge of rain can’t cause that much harm, and Erika is already taking care of the roof. I _am_ in need of some cold remedies though. What would you recommend?”

He taps his finger contemplatively against his teeth. “Hm...” Cecil glances at the booth where Maria is trying to get his attention, and replaces his headphones quickly. “I’m afraid the commercial break’s almost done, but perhaps that’s in our favour – I’ll rally some support, let people know you’ll be coming around.”

She nods and pats Cecil’s arm affectionately. “Thanks _so_ much – I’ll have Erika stop by with some snickerdoodles later on to say thanks.”

Cecil grins in delight and pumps his fist while mouthing an exuberant ‘yes!’, before turning back to the microphone. She fumbles her handbag open, rummages around for an instance, and then gives a single black sheet of paper to Erika; they hold it loosely in front of them and poise the fingers of their opposite hand above like a laying-on of hands. Cecil resumes:

“Dear listeners, Josie just informed me that one of her angels is, unfortunately, afflicted with a rather nasty head cold. As such, it is likely you’ll see her around town today, collecting information on the finest and most effective cold remedies available. Though I myself can’t vouch for the methods which would assist a fictitious celestial being with their recovery-” He signs ‘sorry’ with his hands and Erika inclines their head in pardon. “I _myself_ find it most helpful to wring a lemon into a tall mug of boiling water – remembering to pick out the stray teeth that squeezing a lemon inevitably dislodges – and stir in a tablespoon of all-natural honey. A shot or two of bourbon finishes the entire beverage! Barring access to lemons, honey, bourbon, or boiling water, another potential cure-all that my mother always used is ritual sacrifice and chanting. I can still remember the sigils and unholy runes she’d scrawl on my chest and smear up towards my neck, her voice guttural and grating while blood dripped from her fingers…”

Josie beams at Cecil and waves, and Erika passes their hand over the black paper. In its wake, words appear as though etched onto the fabric of the universe itself, pure energy leeching through cracks in space-time, resplendent and shining.  They read:“hot lemonade with honey and bourbon”. Erika tucks the paper away under their arm and takes hold of Josie’s hand gently to support her as they turn and exit the studio. Cecil waves farewell and continues; his voice fades slowly behind them.

“If any listeners have tips of their own they’d like to share with Old Woman Josie, they are advised to seek her out themselves and otherwise remain silent on the matter forever. She’ll be around, and is accompanied by a ten-foot tall being with six wings and countless eyes, just in case you have difficulty locating her…”

-

Carlos is visibly flustered by Erika’s presence, which the angel finds highly entertaining. He keeps looking at them and forgetting what he’s saying in the midst of his sentences, and overcompensates by rushing about the lab in an attempt to look busy.

“Um. Well. Abuela used to make, uh, soup –with chicken. Poultry. You know. And corn, I think. And lots of pepper. Cleaned my sinuses right out. _Whoops-_ ”

He nearly upsets a rack of test-tubes and clatters them back into place, and Erika’s eyes turn into sickle moons of amusement. “Right. Um. Sorry. Chicken soup and… well, sleep, mostly, I’d sleep for hours and wake up feeling better. Also tea, I guess? Ibuprofen if I was really sore… but I don’t know… the physiology might be… would medication work for a cherubim?”

_I beg your pardon; we’re all malakim._

Carlos yelps and grabs at his head, then cards his fingers through his hair to try and cover the motion up. “Right. Right. Sorry.”

Josie pats him on the arm and smiles. “No need to worry, though we better hush – the Secret Police, lovely people though they are, don’t like when folks talk about the angelic hierarchy. Can’t imagine why.”

“Right.”

Erika unfolds the sheet of darkness-made-paper and Carlos’s words are outlined on the page in pure luminosity: “Chicken soup; sleep; tea. Medication if necessitated.”

-

“Colds don’t exist. Who gets colds anymore? Not me. What’s a cold? Sniffles? Sore throat? PSH. You’re _joking_. Colds are just about as real as _angels._ ”

Erika bristles at the tone of Pamela Winchell’s voice, but Josie rubs her thumb soothingly over the back of Erika’s hand. Pamela is staring directly through – not at, but deliberately _through_ – Erika’s form, and smirking dismissively. Josie says, “Yes, yes, but if they were hypothetically speaking real…”

“Hmph. If they _were_ real, which they’re _not,_ I _suppose_ I’d probably make a steam bath and _soak_ in it. Luxuriate, even. At great length.”

Out comes the page with a flourish, and Erika stoops to stare directly in the Mayor’s eyes as they make her words appear on the page in abrupt, almost angry spurts of light. The Mayor sneers, her gaze focusing somewhere around her nose as she determinedly does _not_ see Erika.

“Thank you for the suggestion. Come along, now.”

-

“Death! Death is the final release, the eventual cure for all ailments and diseases that burrow their way into the flesh, scourges of the body, creeping sicknesses and annihilators of vitality which insinuate themselves throughout the veins and into bones! Death of cells magnified, augmented! The gruesome fractal nature of membranes collapsing, tearing, bursting; atrophy and disintegration, rot and ruination. Dust in the nose, to earth in the throat, to soil in the lungs... and this gradual accumulation merely that which ought to be anticipated all along, a final graduation to the earth which will eventually consume us!”

Erika places their hands over Josie’s ears, scandalized, and Josie shouts over Jay Wu’s ranting, “ _Thank you, Jay, I think we might be fine after all!”_

He continues to babble about things like _half-lives of anatomy_ and _the_ _decay of organic tissues_ while the pair slowly inches back towards the sidewalk, and continues down the street.

-

“Hum. The Scouts Manual recommends any of the following herbal remedies: eucalyptus or tea-tree oils, added to a steam bath.  Garlic, ginger, thyme, marjoram, cinnamon, and black pepper – _Seamus and Marcello, just because my back is turned does not mean I can’t see what you are doing and I demand you put the hedge clippers_ down _, we aren’t covering household weaponization at this point and initiative does_ not _count towards the acquisition of that badge_ _so_ QUIT IT – sorry, Josie. Uhhhh, ginger. Ginger works wonders. Ginseng, lemon, lavender. Any of the ones I’ve listed can help with both symptom alleviation and general prevention… throat gargles, teas, steam-baths, and body rubs are recommended for application, except with eucalyptus or tea-tree oil. Those are toxic and should only be used externally. I mean, unless toxicity’s what you’re going for, or you have poison-immunity up to strength twenty. Does that help?”

Josie nods, Erika’s fingers dancing over the black sheet and handing it down to her, the surface gleaming with something akin to starlight but amplified.

“Thank you, Earl, you filled up the rest of the page on your own!” She gives Erika a fresh one and then leans in towards the Scout Master. “How are Frankie and Barty doing?”

He looks startled and pleased all at once. “Real great, Josie, thanks for asking! They’re about four badges away.”

Josie nods gravely. “I’d hold back on one of those a little longer if I were you.”

He seems pained. “Ah… I don’t know if that’s possible. Scout’s honour, and all that. Evisceration’s not exactly a... desirable consequence for deliberately preventing a scout from reaching a higher rank. They're earning it. If the requirements are filled...”

She nods again, a little sadly. Erika leans down and presses their lips to Earl’s forehead, leaving a mark that looks like a burn in the shape of a mouth. He touches the skin gingerly.

_I don’t know if that’ll be much help, but it’s worth a try._

-

“Well, of course here at Ralph’s we’ve got a fully stocked pharmacy including your commercial medications, secret medications, forbidden medications, and Ayurvedic treatments. We also stock the necessities for ritual burnt offerings – chicken blood, chicken feet, goat’s blood, talismans, pigeon viscera, sagebrush, cactus pads, you name it!” Antoine grins widely, his teeth filed down to eccentric points and eyes bright with gold eyeliner. Erika nods as they take down his words, though they wrinkle their nose a little when he mentions burnt offerings. “Of course, if you’re of the olden faith, you can always…”

“…Pop on down to City Hall and present yourself to the City Council for a synchronized shriek, yes, yes. Somehow I doubt that’ll be particularly useful in this instance. Is there anything you do for yourself when you get sick?”

“Hummm. Well…” He looks around himself before taking a step closer and speaking in a dramatic whisper, “don’t tell anyone, but my immune system usually just pops that sucker right in the nose before it can take hold! If that doesn’t work, I rub myself down with white rum and steam it right outta me. Pile on the blankets and watch re-runs of HBO. Did you know we've got it in high def now? Marvellous.”

-

“I don’t got much in the way of useful medical information – I’m not even a real scientist – but you can have Theodora if you want. I think she wants to help. I hope your friend gets better soon.”

Josie takes the can of Campell’s Chicken with White and Wild Rice tenderly from Simone and tucks it, carefully, almost reverentially, into her handbag. “I can assure you that Theodora won’t go to waste.”

Erika inscribes something onto the black paper, but it isn’t meant to be seen; only felt.

-

Josie returns home with a ream of papers about five thick, the light spilling off of them casting silvery pools onto the floor and walls as she enters the main hallway. “I’m back!” She calls. “You wouldn’t bel _ieve_ what Steve Carlsberg had to say, the silly goose! He’s of the opinion that your illness is a deliberate experiment run by the government…”

The deific black papers are gently torn by hand while her kettle heats to a piercing shriek on the stovetop, and the resultant scraps tucked into a small mesh tea strainer. The steam that wafts up when she pours water over the pages and into a mug smells of fresh breezes, sunlight, something vaguely citrus; of herbs growing and matter being knit together at an atomic level and your favourite smell on the planet, the one that speaks to you of comfort and belonging. She takes the steeped liquid, in whose depths glimmers of light can be seen like the reflections of stars being drowned in the sea, and makes Erika sit up so they can drink it.

Erika coughs once in the drinking, a spluttery noise like a gong struck underwater, but keeps all of it down and sighs. Their eyelids flutter, and a smile creeps onto their face; their chest and limbs, rigid and tense from being shook apart by coughing, relax. Their wings rustle softly against the sheets, and the faintest hint of deep violet flushes back into their cheeks. Josie kneels beside Erika and strokes their forehead lightly, like feathers, and then presses her lips to their brow.

“There, you see? Nothing works like what works best, now, does it?”


End file.
